


My rage is gone, and I am struck with sorrow

by FruHallbera



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Death, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 12:18:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14715890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FruHallbera/pseuds/FruHallbera
Summary: An AU where Hux pulled the trigger in Snoke's throne room.





	My rage is gone, and I am struck with sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Hux pulled the trigger, and it all went wrong. 
> 
> Please be warned for major character death, suicidal toughts, and severe mental helth issues.
> 
> The title is by William Shakespeare, whose words I'm not worthy to repeat.

The view outside his window is wrong. There should be stars, and the sharp angles of a battleship, not this greyish brown, dull scenery of rain and mud. Armitage stands before the window nevertheless, hands clasped behind his back, because after so many years the habit is hard to break.

He senses Ren by his side but doesn’t turn to face him. Right now, this is enough.

Ren doesn’t say anything. Neither does Armitage. They rarely do, these days, although it seems it’s Armitage who always does the speaking anyway.

He turns from the window at the sound of someone entering the room. A man, dressed in white uniform, carrying a tray of food. Right. It must be time for lunch. Or dinner, or breakfast, it’s hard to tell when his days are no longer divided in the familiar cycles and shifts. Sometimes it’s dark outside, sometimes this odd half-light. Never proper sunshine, though. Never. 

His room, which for all intents and purposes constitutes as his world now, is the same grayish brown colour as the view outside. A small bed against one wall, a small desk on the opposite wall, a small window and walls which seem to alternate between standing still and closing in with unpredictable irregularity. A small toilet with a door that cannot be locked. Armitage remembers having more opulent surroundings, having control over his domain – but that was back in the day when he was the General, the _Starkiller_ , but he is neither of those things anymore, now he is mere Armitage. A man whose room has a door that cannot be locked from the inside. He frowns at the vague memory. His thoughts are difficult to hang onto these days, the ideas and memories are fleeting things, surfacing only briefly and usually leaving a bitter taste behind.

Ren nudges him and points towards the tray the man in white has laid on the desk. The food is almost unrecognizable, a stew of some sort with overcooked vegetables on the side. This doesn’t bother Armitage, he is used to far worse. What bothers him is that he hasn’t seen Ren eating in a long while, he is worried that the Knight is risking is health for some silly reason of his own making.

Armitage sits down and eats, otherwise the man in white will never leave. He is not allowed to eat unsupervised after he began flushing his meals down the toilet some weeks ago. He is not allowed to wear proper clothes except when they – when he’s allowed. He is not allowed anything that might cause him physical harm. Not after he tried, and afterwards _begged_ , begged on his knees, crawling on the floor screaming and snarling, begged for a blaster bolt, or a knife, poison, _anything_. Anything at all. Anything.

Not that he would do anything to himself now. He has proved to be a coward in so many ways and he couldn’t bring himself to do that anymore. Besides, he has decided that this is his due punishment for all his misdeeds. His crimes. His awful, awful sin. 

So now he eats obediently and neatly, finishes his plate like a good boy and tries so hard not to look at Ren who has not moved from the window. There probably is something mixed with his food, as it always makes him feel mushy. Unfocused. And Ren doesn’t like it, obviously, because he usually leaves after Armitage’s eaten. Still he eats. The man in white will not leave the room until he does. 

He can’t fight the drowsiness setting upon him after he’s finished the uninspiring stew and he settles down on the bed. He misses Ren already, wants him to squeeze his large frame on the narrow, thin mattress which miraculously is just the right size for the two of them. The Knight has gone as is his wont at this time of the day, leaving with the man in white. Armitage wants to hate this, wants to get angry and shout and demand answers like he knows the General would have done but Armitage never seems to muster enough energy to work up the anger. It is probably still somewhere in his mind, stored away and waiting for its opportunity to rise from the depths like some mythical sea monster Armitage remembers were prominent in Arkanisian folklore. Like the sea monster Armitage sinks slowly under the blackness of sleep.

He wakes up when it’s dark outside. For a moment he is General Hux, thinks he is in space where he belongs, hurtling through the cold vacuum towards glory. Or ruin. Either option just as exhilarating. But there are no stars outside his window and he’s jolted back into being Armitage.

Ren is there. He is standing in the middle of the room, his mouth is opening and closing as if he’s trying to say something, and there is a hole in his head and so much blood streaming down his face and he is looking at Armitage with so much sorrow in his eyes and there is just so much blood flowing from the hole in his head – 

_I did that. I did that, stars, I killed him I killed him I killed him I killed him, it’s my fault, there’s so much BLOOD AND I KILLED HIM I PULLED THE TRIGGER OH STARS I KILLED HIM–_

_“Go away!”_ Armitage throws his pillow at Ren, then his blanket and mattress and anything that is not bolted to the floor. In the end he strips and throws his clothes and slippers. 

“Go away! I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, please, I’m sorry –“ The scream devolves into incoherent babbling and Armitage squeezes himself in the small space between his desk and the wall, curls in on himself and rocks back and forth and wails like his beating heart was torn from his chest. Which it probably is. The pain certainly feels real enough. Suddenly the room is full of light and noise and people, stepping around the mess and right through Ren who vanishes like smoke in the air. Armitage sees the glint of a needle and –

He wakes up feeling groggy and squinting at the light which is not bright but hurts his dry eyes all the same. Ren is sleeping by his side, his face blessedly whole and clean. Armitage turns his head to inhale the man’s scent and would wrap himself around him if he wasn’t in restraints.

“Make him presentable. Do what you must.” The owner of the hoarse voice is also wearing a white uniform, but much sharper and with shiny black boots and a contemptuous twist to his mouth. Armitage feels he ought to remember the meaning of the attire, but Ren’s presence fills his senses and he cannot concentrate any further. There are several people in his room, crowding the tiny space and suddenly Armitage feels first helpless and then irritated at his helplessness. The irritation feels familiar, so he grabs a hold of the emotion and tries to magnify it as much as he can.

He is released and helped from the bed. He eats, neatly and obediently, finishing his plate like a good boy. He is escorted into a shower, quite literally, and shaven clean. Someone combs his hair, someone else applies makeup on his face, and there is a flash of black as a uniform is brought in. It is a magnificent specimen, black as the deepest space with just the right amount of embroidery in gold, expensive fabric, a true masterpiece of bespoke tailoring. Armitage marvels at the sheer beauty of the garment and it takes some time before the expectant air in the room filters through. 

It’s his uniform.

He is the Supreme Leader.

He is the Supreme Leader because he killed Ren.

The truth hits him like an electric shock and Armitage balks but is expertly stopped and helped into the uniform. He is led from his room, a strong hand on his elbow – he is never, ever allowed unescorted outside, not after the incident at the meeting of the High Command -and led down a corridor and into a small studio.

It was all explained to him very carefully after he attempted - that, and of course he understood. The Order is big, far bigger than the fate of a single man, there are billions of people across the galaxy who depend on the Order for their livelihoods, and protection, and the future of their families. The Order cannot collapse, and right now it cannot allow Armitage to collapse or at least it cannot let anyone see that Armitage has collapsed, has been dragged into madness by his own actions. The Order cannot collapse lest the entire Galaxy collapses with it, and that is far more important than Armitage, or Ren, or anyone else.

Therefore, Armitage must keep going. Must submit to the food and the uniform and the doors that he has no control over. He will be the Supreme Leader until he is no longer needed. Until the situation has stabilized, and the war is well and truly over. Until the First Order is in no danger of succumbing into a civil war. Until Ren has forgiven him. This will more than likely end in his death. No matter. 

Armitage is not sure when his madness began. Maybe it was when he saw how utterly devoted Ren was to the scavenger girl, maybe it began when he first saw Ren remove his mask. At the time of their first rut. When the need for pure physical release turned gradually into something more solid and at the same time completely horrifying. They were both just as incompetent at upholding relationships, but somehow it worked. They were good together. 

Until... until Ren met that girl. Until that day when Armitage had walked into Snoke’s throne room and seen the destruction and had practically smelled her on Ren and he _knew_ , at that precise moment he knew, was absolutely certain that Ren had abandoned him. His madness may have begun years ago, but in that moment, it came to life. Jealousy. Possession. Fury such as he had never felt before. He raised his weapon and as it discharged his entire life slid sideways into this insane and sick version of reality.

The lights in the studio are too bright, and the noise level too high. Armitage fights a wave of nausea. His skin feels like paper and his eyes are so dry they burn every time he blinks. He is led to a podium and told to read the speech from the teleprompter in front of him. He closes his eyes and tries to be the General, no, because in this incarnation he is the Supreme Leader Hux, tries to be the confident and capable and unbreakable man he once was. A deep breath in, a deep breath out. The media people are amazingly talented. They can make the background seem like the Supreme Leader was speaking from the bridge of his flagship, or in front of an adoring crowd. And if Armitage slurs his words or repeats a sentence three times, they can make all of that go away as well. 

Armitage reads and the reflection in the prompter shows Ren mouthing the words of the speech right behind him. He wonders if the media people can edit away the tears that are running down his cheeks.

“Cut!”

Apparently not. Armitage focuses, focuses with all his might, he doesn’t want the needle and he doesn’t want the humiliation of facing the people in the sharp uniforms, doesn’t want them yelling at him.  
The Order must not collapse. It must thrive. As long as the Order lives so will Ren. This is his punishment. The Order is all that he has left.

He begins again, and this time he does not falter. He knows the speech went well from the expressions of the people around him. Good. He is not completely lost. Ren, too, nods his approval and Armitage smiles at him. He doesn’t speak to Ren in public anymore, he used to, but the people around him tended to get worried and he’s learned that making people worried might or might not result in the needle being brought out.

He is led back to his room. The beautiful uniform is taken from him and the shapeless trousers and shirt produced. He dresses and sits down on his bed. The silence is deafening after the bustle in the studio. Ren comes to sit by his side and Armitage leans his head against his shoulder. He wishes that Ren would speak. He’d even welcome Ren projecting his thoughts in his head, something that he used to hate. Even if it was to say how much he hated Armitage for killing him, regretted ever knowing him, ever making the mistake of letting Armitage into his bed and into his life. He’d give anything to hear Ren’s voice again.

The man in white brings another meal and watches Armitage eat. The man leaves and soon after Armitage slumbers on his bed, imagining strong arms around his waist and a warm breath against his skin. The thing is, his greatest fear, the all-consuming thought circling around his mind is that he cannot, is simply unable to decide which is worse: that he’ll forget how Ren felt and sounded and smelled, or that he never will. For now, he cocoons himself in the blanket, and clings to the phantom arms wrapping around him. Imagines Ren there with such fervor that he can physically feel his body heat.

He cannot tell whether it’s morning or evening when he wakes up. Ren has left when he was asleep, and Armitage shivers with cold under his thin blanket. He rises slowly, every joint and muscle in his body stiff and aching. He feels off kilter, like he wasn’t completely present in his own flesh. He slides his cold feet in the flimsy slippers and coaxes his legs to take on his weight. 

The view outside his window is wrong. There should be stars, and the sharp angles of a battleship, not this greyish brown, dull scenery of rain and mud. Armitage stands before the window nevertheless, hands clasped behind his back, because after so many years the habit is hard to break.


End file.
